


Never Gonna Happen

by ziraseal



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Canon Divergence, Emotional Slow Burn, F/F, Friends With Benefits, POV Alternating, Post main quest, but pre Benign Intervention, but that's fallout for you, screw todd's lore, some future horror elements in later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:20:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29773323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziraseal/pseuds/ziraseal
Summary: That’s what a family is, right? The reason humans keep surviving and improving?So why is she so hesitant to have that? What’s missing?
Relationships: Cait/Female Sole Survivor, Cait/Female Sole Survivor/Piper Wright, Cait/Piper Wright, Female Sole Survivor/Piper Wright
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13





	1. A Night to Remember

Piper is soft, Cait is hard.

No, ugh, not like _that_.

Piper isn’t physically strong, she spends her days at a desk eating pre-war deviled eggs and drinking Nuka-Cola and worrying about the jumpy squatters in a city where you can’t trust anyone. Before meeting Nora, Cait spent almost all of her time in the Combat Zone, honing her fighting skills through Tommy’s rigorous training schedule and then destroying those skills with chems. It doesn’t make her strong, per se, it makes her sharp. Dangerous. Like one of those pre-war animals that used bright colors to indicate danger. Unlike Piper, Cait barely eats any food, just the minimum amount of protein her muscles need, and an awful lot of booze. It makes her sluggish sometimes, but that’s where the Psycho helps.

Or so she snaps when Nora asks her about it.

Nora’s noticed, quite a few times, that Cait will sneak off to an alley after a fight and give herself a shot of the drug. When she comes back, she’s standing taller, cracking her knuckles, and giving her baseball bat a hearty swing. It should fool Nora into thinking Cait does it to be better at combat, but all it does is worry Nora. She’s spoken to Curie about it in hushed tones, but unless Cait actually _wants_ to clean up, there’s not much Curie can do beyond casual suggestions. And Cait’s not taking orders from some vault-dweller synth.

Piper and Cait don’t get along. At least, not when it comes to morals, or how they should spend their time and caps. But sometimes Piper will crack a joke mid-fight, and Nora will look over to see Cait having to struggle to hold in her laughter. The reporter occasionally sits down and stumbles a sheepish boxer through some reading lessons. When Nora complains that Piper shouldn’t eat pre-war junk food, Cait actually chimes in to defend her;

_“Look, doll, I know ya could afford to be a little picky before the world went to shite, but out here food falls into two categories; will it kill ya tomorrow, or will it kill ya in thirty years? Most folks don’t live to see their forties. Let Gift o’ Gab eat what she wants.”_

_“Ok, but you’re not getting any vitamins in your diet. You kind of need those, regardless of how long you think you’re going to live!”_

_“Blue, relax, I like other food, that’s just what’s usually affordable in Diamond City!”_

_“Takahashi’s noodles aren’t any healthier,” Nora protests. “Have you seen the amount of sodium he puts in those servings?”_

_“Oh for fucks sake, they’d be bland as paper otherwise,” Cait gripes. “If it will make ya shut your trap, we’ll hunt a radstag before we get back, okay?”_

They complain when Nora points out that Vault 81 has the healthiest food around, reminding her that the prices are insanely high to offset the power and water it takes to hydroponically grow crops that aren’t irradiated. Back at Sanctuary, there’s all the irradiated crops and meats they could want. _“Taste like absolute shite, though”,_ Cait will say. And Piper will nod, pulling some Blamco out of her backpack to hide the molerat chunks. Nora hasn’t quite given up, but she’s getting close.

Of course, Piper and Cait break out into infamously big arguments whenever Nora decides to help settlements with something minor;

_“These people are just trying to live their best lives, to rebuild society. Why is that so hard for you to understand?!?”_

_“Listen, goody two shoes, they don’t lift a finger to help themselves. And they fucking complain all the time! How hard is it to build your own fucking shed? I learned how to do it when I was seven!”_

_Nora tries to butt in, “Guys, it’s not a big deal, I can have Ada bring mattresses over from Red Rocket—”_

_“No, Blue, it is a big deal. What is so hard about the idea that people should work together and treat each other with respect?”_

_“Rip that out of a story book, did ya? Fuck em. They’re taking advantage of us and don’t have a cap to give in return.”_

_“It’s not about caps!”_

_“Oh, I ain’t doing this shite for free!”_

_“I’ll, uh, come back tomorrow,” Nora mutters to a settler. “Maybe having a morning shift and a night shift between guards will ration out the beds a little better until I can come up with something. We’ll salvage another turret from the Federal Ration Stockpile, too.”_

_The Sunshine Tidings settlers, scared of Cait beginning to gesture at Piper with her chain-wrapped baseball bat, fervently nod and return to their scavenging and farming chores. Nora quietly walks over to the recruitment beacon and shuts it off to prevent any new recruits from joining up and creating more of a problem. She holds up her modified pip-boy and types a message to Ada to have a supply caravan bring three mattresses and the wood to build bed frames from Red Rocket._

The further north you go in the Commonwealth, the better the timber quality. A lot of the trees outside of the Massachusetts are actually still living; Thick forests of irradiated animals, and trees that have mutated to stay alive. Nature never fails to impress, really. One of the things that actually does bring in decent trade is the logging clans from New Hampshire, Maine, and the parts of Vermont that weren’t hit when the Chinese bombed Montreal and Ottawa. The Reds had no reason to hit those sparsely populated northern states, so while some airborne radiation has changed the world up north a little, it’s healthy… and quite beautiful compared to the rest of America.

Given that Sanctuary is the last safe place before the Commonwealth begins to thicken with Supermutants and Deathclaws and such, the logging caravans prefer to make that their end stop. While she dislikes the little requests from settlers, Cait actually seems comfortable helping out the loggers. Something about how “they’re tough folk, making a real living”. Piper’s not really as interested in it, choosing instead to follow Nick around whenever Nora and Cait travel north.

Surprisingly, the price for enough timber to build a house isn’t caps, but a robot. A few sentry bots or robobrains can help the logging clans pull a rusty flatbed of logs down the state, and while they use fusion cores to recharge, the power plants up north are still functional and able to sustainably support a population of logging robots. Ada and Isabel Cruz work non-stop on this, seeing as Isabel has a nearly unlimited supply of mechanical servants and an extremely guilty conscience. It means that settlers throughout the Commonwealth can have actual homes, insulated and protected from the elements.

Even Cait and Piper share a cabin in Sanctuary, though Piper barely uses it, as someone needs to keep an eye on the Great Green Jewel.

The once decrepit neighborhood of creaking metal houses has been torn down to the foundations, and log cabins with warm fires and stocked gun racks and working plumbing provided by Vault 111 exist in their stead. The foundations of the houses are built with white granite brought in from Thicket Excavations, overseen by the settlers of Tenpines. The windows are made… well… traditionally. It’s not like there’s a shortage of sand, you just need to add extreme heat. That’s where Finch Farm and Country Crossing come in, as after the Minutemen had cleared out Saugus Ironworks, they could carefully repurpose it into a proper forge to create new metals and glasses from raw materials.

You know, as opposed to scavenging the decrepit junk made from pre-War capitalism. 

Honestly it frustrates Nora that for the last 200 years, people have been using scraps and shantytowns and calling it good. She often has to remind herself that the various irradiated predators, raiders, and super-mutants make it difficult to pull together enough humans to actually create rather than salvage. There will be more progress now that the Institute is destroyed, but Nora has decided to pick her battles carefully.

All she can do, truthfully, is pick up a hammer and build another house. That’s all she can _think_ to do. If she stops, she might fall back into that pit. Of thinking about Nate, or Shaun, or everything she’s lost. So, even if Cait complains, she _has_ to help these wastelanders. They’re all she has left. She’s glad that Piper understands.

 _“Doing the right thing rarely makes you popular, but I don’t think I could live with myself otherwise,”_ the reporter likes to say.

If Cait is a sharp blade, harsh and twisting, Piper is the sand thrown in your eyes. The unexpected. Leaving you stunned as she makes her next move. 

Nora doesn’t expect Piper to sit out on the porch with her in silence, taking in the twinkling stars of the clear night sky. Nora doesn’t expect Piper to puff her chest out and yell at the Gunner patrol attempting to bully the Jamaica Plain settlers, shaming them into scampering off. Nora doesn’t expect Piper to be the one to climb up the electrical tower at Abernathy Farm and install the warning signal that can be seen from Sanctuary in case of attack. She does expect Piper to be the one to give her a long, warm hug when October 23rd rolls around.

Even when Piper and Cait fight, they put aside their differences to help Nora. Though she doesn’t seem it, Cait knows engines like the back of her hand. Something about a grandfather who sailed and fished for a living, and needed to know mechanics to restore old boats. Likewise, Piper knows guns better than she lets on. Her father had been a head security officer of a settlement, of course, and would have taught Piper how to take care of herself. The two women, so different in personality, work together on a lot of practical projects. Sometimes without Nora even prompting them.

Sometimes, they’ll take over chores and dictate duties for settlers when Nora’s having a bad day.

Days when she just has to sit at Nate’s grave in silence and think.

Days when the little synth boy crawls into her lap and calls her “Mom” and she grows stiff for a moment, thinking of everything that could have been.

Days when Nora actually _recognizes_ a corpse or feral from before the war and throws up, or breaks down and cries.

Cait and Piper don’t say a thing; one of them takes care of Nora and the other finishes up what they’d set out to do for the day. They understand. They’ve seen what the Wasteland can do to you. They never berate her, for all their griping and complaining. They never mock her. They just… help.

Nora can’t help but think about it. About how kind they are to her.

____________________

Deacon swings her around to the music of the live band, and Nora lets out a musical laugh in response. It’s clear she’s lost in some pre-War memory, aided by the crate of Bobrov’s that was gifted by the new Mayor of Diamond City. Cait watches from the corner of the barn, nursing a beer and pretending as though she doesn’t want to strut right up and pull Nora flush to her chest, whispering an old Irish poem her grandfather taught her. The thought makes her fall into a little more sorrow; Nora’s a widow. She’s lost her flesh and blood son (though that little synth tyke trails behind her like he’s her kid). She’s built up the entire Commonwealth with her own two hands. She’s been through so much. What’s Cait in comparison?

Preston and Curie are dancing together on the other end of the Longhouse (which is what they all call the extremely big barn they use for public gatherings in Sanctuary). Valentine and Hancock are locked in some sort of dice or card game, and Cait notices Hancock instinctively resting his hand on the combat knife that lives at his hip. Macready is swaying in place with a little toddler on his hip. It’s a sight that truly confuses Cait, given she’s seen the man pop people’s heads off from a mile away with his rifle.

There are a few familiar faces from Vault 81, having been convinced to make the trip by Trader Rylee and that attractive DeLuca girl. The Overseer and her bodyguard Edwards, and a handful of other people who look absolutely stupid in their bright blue suits. Their eyes are wide open, taking in the open night of the Commonwealth, as well as gawking at the big evil super mutant standing guard at the Red Rocket in the distance. Every so often someone has to remind them that Strong isn’t going to eat them.

There’s someone strange, who Cait can’t place. A woman who came with Deacon, who leans against the old tree in the cul-de-sac and watches everyone with a determined look. A lone cigarette rests in her fingers. She doesn’t look like she’s had a day of fun in her life, and arrived to _barely_ participate in the party. Someone in passing called her Dez, but the cage fighter wonders if that’s her real name.

Well, if Nora’s cool with this woman, who’s Cait to judge?

“Codsy, can I get another?”

“Why of course, Miss Cait! Beer, wine, whiskey, or Bobrov’s?”

Her fingers twitch a little, wanting to reach for the hefty bottle of Bobrov’s, to drink until she can’t see anything. To wander back to the little cabin she shares with Piper, take a shot of Psycho, and pass out with the bottle underneath her pillow. Codsworth waits patiently for her answer. His three big eyes bore into her with curiosity and a hint of snippy British judgement (piece of shite was built in south Boston, but he’ll act his act till the day his wiring fries).

“Two Dirty Wastelanders, Cods,” a voice _pipes_ up behind her.

“Right away Miss Wright! Hah!”

The former cage fighter turns to see none other than the “Menace of Diamond City”, casually sitting at one of the barstools and lighting a cigarette. The smell reminds Cait a little of her grandfather, of sitting in his lap as a toddler and hearing stories of the ocean.

“Ya like a Dirty Wastelander?” Cait asks, trying to keep herself from saying something snippy.

“Well hey, lifetime supply of Nuka Cola, might as well make use of it.”

Piper’s referring to that strange amusement park that Nora had the Minutemen clear out a few months ago. The folks being held as slaves there had centuries worth of food and drink hidden away from the prying Raider’s eyes. After those explosive collars were gently, _gently_ pried off their necks, the traders were more than happy to send a few large shipments of pre-War food to the Commonwealth. Most of it is kept in Vault 111, in case of a bad farming season, alongside a decent surplus of fresh fruits and vegetables that are frozen in cryo storage.

It’s a little morbid, using an underground graveyard for such a mundane use like storing food, but you learn pretty quickly in the Commonwealth not to let _anything_ go to waste. Hell, every person at some point or another has collected skeletal remains of a previous owner from their homes and buried them out back.

A strange man guards Vault 111, a synth whose mind Nora had the Railroad wipe. Piper has speculated to Cait that he was a Courser of some kind, not that he’d remember, and he’s certainly athletic enough to be one. His name before started with an “X6”, or was it a “Z3”? Stupid Institute and their shite number names for synths. Well, now he goes by Xander, and he’s a decent enough man. He lives at the edge of Sanctuary and keeps to himself. Sometimes Nora’s adopted kid plays with him, and he gets lost in this blank stare as he struggles to remember something. Apparently Nora’s taken the high road, and let him know about his past; so that there’s no confusion or mixed feelings. But Xander doesn’t much care to know more, says he figures it was done for a good reason, by good people.

Doesn’t sit right with Cait.

Codsworth gently hands two glasses full of dark brown liquid to Piper, with such delicacy and dignity that Cait wonders if the clunky old robot practices when Nora’s not home.

“Thank you, my good sir!” Piper chuckles, mimicking a British accent.

“But of course, Miss Wright! Always a pleasure to support one so noble as yourself!”

“Jesus,” Cait mutters under her breath, turning away from the bar and rolling her eyes.

She’s stopped, to her surprise, when a hand gently places one of the glasses into her own. She looks up to see Piper giving her a sly grin and gesturing towards the patio of their cabin.

“Kinda loud in here, you know?”

Cait takes the drink and hesitates. Part of her just wants to drink alone, in the dark, and forget. That same fucking parasite that lives in her head and tells her that no one cares for her. That she shouldn’t be taken advantage of. That she needs to leave and fend for herself.

Instead, she follows Piper.

They weave through friends, through Minutemen, through happy, relaxed settlers. It’s the first real party anyone’s had in a long time. A brand-new holiday that Nora came up with, celebrating the anniversary of the Institute being destroyed. Folks around here need _something_ , Cait supposes, and “independence” holidays aren’t exactly new. But it fits. Plus, it’s also springtime; folks are celebrating the end of a harsh winter and the beginning a long farming, fishing, and hunting season. It’s weird. It’s… well… it’s kinda nice.

Not that she’d ever tell anyone.

Nora puts a big emphasis on making things from scratch, and not cobbled together pieces of old world junk. With all the lumber from up north, almost every chair, bed, cabinet, and table in Sanctuary either is wood or wicker. It turns out that Sheffield’s pretty handy with woodworking tools and has his own little furniture shop set up in the Red Rocket. As a result, when Cait sits down in the chair on her porch, she lets out a satisfied groan at the comfort.

Piper sits down in the opposite chair and lights the little lantern so that they’re not in total darkness. The music still carries all the way to their cabin, and Cait spots the reporter tapping her foot along. That weird woman, Dez, continues to lean against the tree and survey the town. In the distance, if she squints, Cait can see Strong playing fetch with Dogmeat across the river.

Peace is such a strange concept. She doesn’t think she’ll get used to it.

Not that they’re completely relaxed. There’s still a patrol of guards walking from post to post, along the thick wooden walls that surround the town. And everyone has a pistol or knife at their side, at the very least.

But it’s still some semblance of peace.

“Do you think the holiday will catch on?” Piper asks, tossing a sly grin her way.

Cait shrugs, “Write an article about it. It’ll catch on in Goodneighbor, though I think folks there will use it as an excuse to huff as much jet as usual.”

“Yeah. Well, there’s not a lot of people in the Commonwealth who _didn’t_ hate the Institute.”

“Never really bothered me.”

“Well, they had no real reason to mess with Raiders, did they?”

“No,” Cait says, taking a sip, “Suppose not.”

Sometimes it annoys her when people consider her an ex-Raider. She wasn’t part of their little clans. Hell, she barely bothered to learn their names; most died within a month of her meeting them. She certainly never went out on raids. Partially because she didn’t want to murder innocent folks (she’s a bitch, but not that much of a bitch), and partially because Tommy wouldn’t let her.

But it makes sense. She was in the Combat Zone for, what, three years? The Raiders had been there for at least five. Anyone who heard the name “Combat Zone” and “Cait” automatically heard “Raider”. Fuck it. She doesn’t give two shits what other people think.

“Nice night,” Piper says.

“Mmm.”

“Can see Corvega, all lit up, all the way from here.”

“Mmm.”

The reporter gives her a small glare, but then shakes her head and takes a sip of her whiskey and Nuka Cola. Cait can tell without tasting the other glass that Codsworth made the reporter’s drink more cola than whiskey, and gave Cait the stronger drink of the two. Fuckin’ judgmental piece of s—

“What do you think we’re doing next, with Nora?”

“Hmm? Oh, I think we’re headed to that island near the Castle,” Cait sighs. “Uh… what was it called… something stupid, like Mesmerize Island or Fantastic Island?”

“Spectacle Island?”

“Yeah. Fuckin’ Pre-War names, am I right?”

That earns her a grin from Piper, “Yeah, pre-War folks made some of the greatest technological advancements in human history, and yet they weren’t that clever when it came to names.”

“Well, I doubt there will be much of a spectacle there. From what I’ve seen, it’s a mirelurk infested shitehole like any other coast in the Commonwealth.”

“Oh great, I guess that means seafood for a week.”

“I’ll bring the booze if you bring those deviled eggs you love so much.”

“Deal.”

A cheer erupts from the barn, and the two women can hear Nora giving a toast, her loud, commanding voice carrying across Sanctuary. It almost makes Cait a little wary, being too loud can cause hostile creatures and people to home in on your location… but there aren’t many wild animals up here that can break through defenses as sturdy as Sanctuary’s. Wild mutts and mole rats, maybe a few unorganized raiders. She’s reluctant to admit this town is actually placed in the tamest section of the Commonwealth. The crowd inside the barn cheers as Nora finishes whatever little speech she’d been giving.

“Hmm… I should have been recording that. I’ll just ask Ada to play back what she said later,” Piper frowns, staring into her glass.

“Piper Wright, skimping out on a story?”

“Don’t you start with me.”

Cait leans over and plucks the cigarette from the reporter’s fingers and inhales once, twice, before passing it back. Ugh. Cigarettes remind her of her grandfather, but they also remind her of her mother. Fuck.

_The belt, striking across her back. Again, again, again._

_Locked in a shed for a week, dehydrated and starving._

_Shouting, shouting so loud that she can’t do anything but curl up and cover her ears._

Cait’s body tenses up, and she puts her drink down, gripping her jeans with her fingers to try and keep herself grounded. She’s safe. In Sanctuary. Her pieces of shit parents are dead and buried, loaded with lead and worm food now. Dead by her vengeful hands.

“I need ya to… fuck, this is stupid.”

“What is it?” Piper asks.

She looks over, realizing that the reporter’s face has flashed into full concern. Huh. Didn’t really expect that, but what’s she got to lose?

“I need a distraction.”

_So that I don’t wander off and inject myself with filth just so that I won’t think about them._

“Oh.”

Piper sets her drink down and stands, gazing out across the river for a second afore turning and offering Cait a hand up. Last chance to back out, to walk into her bedroom, grab her yellow chem box, and forget everything that’s happened tonight. She takes Piper’s hand, feeling the soft pre-War leather of her gloves as she’s pulled to her feet. What she’s not expecting is for the smaller woman to take her other hand.

“Dance with me.”

The music is certainly loud enough, and even if it weren’t, Sanctuary has a small Radio Freedom beacon broadcasting on the other end. And every house has a radio with Diamond City tuned in. It’s all been shut down for tonight’s festivities, but needless to say, there’s always a song in Sanctuary.

Ugh. What a cheesy fuckin’ sentence.

Cait really doesn’t know what compels her to humor Piper, but they begin swaying together. It’s… well, she’d never admit that it’s nice out loud, but it is actually nice. It’s the alcohol that compels her to rest her chin on Piper’s shoulder, she tells herself, as the reporter sways the two of them around. And it’s the cold, that last brisk night before spring will begin to warm up the Commonwealth, that has her holding Piper closer for warmth. She tells herself.

She doesn’t think about it till weeks later, months even, that dancing with Piper was a moment of clarity. A moment where she doesn’t feel a twitch in her arms, the gnawing hunger for Psycho.

Piper hums a little to the music.

Cait smells something in Piper’s coat. No fancy fragrances or anything like that. Just… just a good smell, you know? Maybe it’s whatever soap she uses. Maybe it’s dirt from roaming the Commonwealth. But she presses her nose to the crook of Piper’s neck, until she realizes her lips are against Piper’s throat.

The reporter lets out a soft gasp. Her hands have stopped holding Cait’s and are now resting on the Irishwoman’s back. Drawing her in.

Cait pushes, shoving Piper up against the cabin wall. She doesn’t know what’s overcome her, lips against a throat and there’s a hand in Cait’s hair, and one on her arse as well.

“God, Cait.”

But the cage fighter doesn’t move. She doesn’t know wh— she knows why. She’d never do to someone what happened to her many times in the Combat Zone and as a slave. Cait may be a complete bitch, but she’d absolutely never force sex upon another person. She looks up into Piper’s eyes and raises an eyebrow.

“Is this o—”

Lips press up hard against her own, answering her question before it even left her now occupied mouth. Fuck. Cait hasn’t had something like this in a while, not since the Combat Zone, and it certainly wasn’t with anyone she trusted. Sure, Piper irritates her, but she _trusts_ her. Believes Piper won’t do what so many others have done to her.

There had been a few people at the Combat Zone she’s fucked who hadn’t taken advantage of her or hurt her. Mostly Raiders who had just joined up and weren’t yet crazed with bloodlust. Sometimes a caravan would pass through on the way to Goodneighbor and Tommy would let them stay for the night under his protection. And it’s not like sex work is rare in the Commonwealth, as long as both parties are safe about it.

But she hasn’t really been with someone who… she doesn’t have words for it.

It takes her a moment to realize that she’s nipping at Piper’s neck, gently biting at a pulse point and sucking the muscle there. Hard. Piper’s jaw is open, half of a smile, and the woman is clearly a little dazed.

Someone opens the door to their cabin. Doesn’t matter who.

They spill inside, like a river breaking a dam, and lock the door behind them. A bed— again, doesn’t matter whose. The lights are turned off and Cait tugs at the sash of Piper’s red leather coat with a growl. Her own corset is unzipped and flung against the opposite wall. More fabric is shed, and they crawl onto the bed between their fervent kisses. She finds herself nestled between two bare legs and gives a satisfied grin.

She can barely see Piper in the moonlight, but Jesus, even in that sliver of silver, she’s bombshell gorgeous, isn’t she? 

Maybe she should draw it out longer. She’s having a little fun, after all. Piper’s legs aren’t made of hard muscle like Cait’s are, and it feels divine to grip soft flesh as she pulls the reporter closer. The noise of the world outside is muffled and for a second… no, for the first time in her life, she actually feels safe.

She settles herself down between either thigh and enjoys what the reporter has to offer.

____________________

Piper wakes up with a soft groan. Parts of her body are sore, and she’s definitely in her birthday suit. She didn’t drink to the point of a hangover, but her mouth is still dry and the pillows don’t feel quite right. After a moment she realizes this is because she’s not in her own bed.

Oh right. _Fuck_.

Cait’s absolutely nowhere to be found, but the yellow chem box that lives on top of her dresser is ajar. Figures. She glances around, realizing that she hasn’t really seen much of Cait’s room in the time they’ve shared the cabin. Admittedly, she doesn’t really live here; it’s a place to stay when she’s visiting from Diamond City. Her own room is bare in comparison.

Cait has a few Madden Gym posters up, of various famous pre-War boxers. There are also some weights and a punching bag, which Piper did know about. There’s a world map resting above the desk that Cait uses, and while Piper tries to avoid being a total a snoop when it comes to her roommate’s personal writings, she is happy to know the Irishwoman does the writing practices that Piper sends her. There’s an old radio with a new wood casing that’s been treated and polished by Sheffield, a few bottles of Buffout (a tame pre-War chem in comparison to Pyscho) resting next to the weights, some Grognak comics, and a shotgun on a wall mount. Her old double barrel. The one that she used to k— never mind.

Piper leaves, not wanting to get caught in a weird position if Cait’s to return.

What the fuck does she say? She hasn’t really had to do a walk of shame before. And it sucks because this is her roommate! Her traveling companion! Her fr— yeah, her friend! Well shit...

Their tiny bathroom isn’t occupied, and the kitchen/living room is empty. Piper sets about making herself breakfast, making a second portion in case Cait’s hungry (the sink is void of dishes). She decides to have mutfruit pancakes, made from the gritty flour of razorgrain, brahmin milk, a quarter of a mirelurk egg, and salt. Sunshine Tidings has been making sugar out of syrup from their fields and fields of corn, and while it’s not as fine as pre-War sugar, she still gives herself an extra spoonful. The rest of the mirelurk egg she uses for half an omelet.

She does cheat, and cracks open an ice-cold Nuka Cola for breakfast. She’s not quite ready to incorporate Codsworth’s mutated fern tea into her morning routine.

There’s a knock on the door. For a second, she wonders if Cait forgot her key again, but instead it’s Nora on her porch, bright eyed and cheerful. Nora eyes something on Piper’s shirt, or maybe her collar, for half a second before bouncing on her toes to greet the reporter.

“Good morning! I was wondering where you disappeared off to last night. I didn’t want to deal with the paperwork of a synth kidnapping.”

“Oh ha ha,” Piper sarcastically laughs. “Nah, I just retired to bed early.”

Nora raises an eyebrow. The reporter’s cheeks go a little red at the memory of Cait, two fingers deep inside her and sucking on her breast. Giving her that wild, cheeky grin in the darkness. The taste of a Dirty Wastelander on Cait’s lips, mixing with Piper’s. She turns to deal with the food so that it doesn’t burn and gestures for Nora to sit.

“Well, Preston’s escorting the guests from 81 back to their beloved bunker. Deacon and Dez left sometime last night. They don’t like staying for too long in one place. I think MacCready’s looking for work for the day, but I told him not to grab a job that’s too big as we’re going to head out in a week.”

“To Spectacle?”

“To Egret Tours, first, for some transportation. Phyllis Daily’s sent some mail that her settlers are restoring two old sailboats we can take down the Charles.”

“Ah, that’s good. I wasn’t looking forward to a dip in the rad soup.”

Nora grins, and takes a sip of Piper’s Nuka Cola. The reporter can’t help but stare at her lips for a second, thinks of Cait, of last night, and looks away. Again.

The pancakes actually turn out well. Not fluffy and pristine like the pictures of pre-War pancakes, but still really well all things considered. Some of the Vermont and Maine loggers bring down some sort of sweet tree sap on occasion and Nora insists that Piper puts it on her pancakes.

“That’s how we ate them before the War.”

“Yeah? Are you sure this stuff is legit?” Piper asks, dipping her pinkie finger into the jar.

Nora dips a pinkie in as well and brings it to her lips, “Yeah, tastes the same as it did back then. Not surprising, all you have to do is heat the sap and it turns into maple syrup. Well, I’m sure there are other steps, but that’s the gist of it.”

“Must be nice to live in the parts of the world where the trees are still vibrant.”

“Yeah. The United States annexed Canada in the years leading up to the War, but as far as I could tell China didn’t have as much interest in bombing them as they did the rest of the States. I think New York, D.C., Boston, Seattle, Houston, and almost all of California were their biggest targets. Maybe some of the Great Lakes and cities along the Mississippi. I imagine there’s a lot of land that’s…. maybe not unmarred, but recovering?”

“I hear the world used to be green, and not just from Super Mutants,” Piper says, giving a sad smile.

Nora nods and gives a wistful smile of her own, “God, it was something else. I grew up in a small town, far away from the noise and lights and skyscrapers. Once you get up into the mountains, the dirt roads, and the clean rivers, you just… you felt so much peace around you, all the time. I suppose Sanctuary is a slice of that, before you get into Lexington. But nothing compares to the sheer amount of green that used to be in the world.”

“There are still some flowers and plants in the world that… kind of look like they’re hanging onto it all. Hubflowers and bloodleaf.”

“Yeah, if they don’t spray irradiated pollen in your face.”

“That was one time,” Piper groans. “You aren’t going to let that go, are you?”

Nora steals a pancake off the counter and eats it with her fingers, shaking her head with a grin between bites.

“I think I’m going to hang out with Nat for a week after we grab Spectacle, assuming everything goes well. I’ll help you get set up with the basics, of course. And I’ll write a little blurb about it to recruit some settlers for ya while I’m at the Public.”

“That should be fine, once we have a good supply relay between us and the Castle, it will be easy enough to work with Cait, MacCready, and Preston on building up a decent place. We might even be able to build a harbor of sorts between Spectacle, Warwick, and the Castle.”

“That would be amazing. Maybe ten years from now, it will be a city.”

“If we can clean up Quincy Quarry, we can use the stone there. I’ll need to talk to Vault 88 about what kinds of radiation clean up equipment they might have. It would take a long time, maybe even a project that takes a few years, but we could make a jetty that creates a windbreak for boats. We’d need a lot of equipment to do it, maybe even a barge if we can find one.”

“There’s that barge on the Charles, the one near Diamond City,” Piper points out. “Raiders like to take it over every once and a while but it’s in decent condition. If we made a crane system on one of the bridges, we could take the shipping crates off and clear it. You’d need to get a new tugboat for it. I think that’s the Riptide, right? The actual tug is crushed under the drawbridge, but the barge it’s towing is in okay shape.”

Nora eagerly pulls out a pad of paper and begins writing down notes, comparing them with the paper map she keeps on her person, and the map in her Pip Boy.

“I think some of the Minutemen Scouts have reported a beached barge on Spectacle Island as well. That may be a good backup. And if we can get the mirelurks out of Irish Pride Shipyard and flood the room with water, I think the boat inside there is actually in really good shape. Might need some new glass windows. I’ll see if Isabel knows a way to make a working waterproof motor.”

Piper begins putting her dishes in the sink, and says, “Not a lot of good boats left in the Commonwealth. You’d have better luck finding a vertibird in working condition.”

“If only the Brotherhood had arrived with a few boats of their own.”

“Might have crashed less than their air support.”

“Yeah,” Nora laughs. “Well we only have one vertibird of our own right now, and I want to be careful with it. It’s for emergencies.”

Nora chats up a few more plans with her, and Piper knows that Preston will be her main strategist, but it’s kind of her to take everyone’s opinions into consideration. The General leaves, allowing Piper to get ready for the day. She enters the bathroom and lets the shower run for a minute, eternally grateful that Nora figured out a way to make working water heaters for each cabin in the town.

She’s already sparsely dressed, tossing aside her shirt and shorts and stepping in with a sigh. A content sigh. God, warm water that she doesn’t have to manually heat herself. If it weren’t for the fact that Nat was so settled in Diamond City, she’d move the two of them out here permanently. The food is better, attacks on the settlement are rare and far from dangerous in comparison to the super mutants and ghouls of Boston. There isn’t a school, but Nora has begun working on a library, bringing in anything and everything that was legible, filling it with plush chairs and working terminals. And it’s not like Piper couldn’t tutor Nat, if needed. She is educated, or as educated as one can be in the Wasteland.

Though the new Mayor of Diamond City is a decent enough woman, the residents still aren’t fond of Piper. Even though she’d been right. She’d been right all along and they still despise her for ruining their happy lives with hard truth. Maybe Sanctuary would be better for Piper in the long run, but that’d be running away. Could she do that to them? She does care for a few of the residents, of course. Paul Pembroke is respectful enough to her, and Arturo is a sweetheart who throws discounts her way every time she offers to babysit Nina. The Bobrovs like her, too, though maybe cutting the moonshine out of her life is a safe bet for her innards.

The warm water runs down the back of her neck and she closes her eyes, letting out a groan. She doesn’t even care if Cait sneaks back in; so entranced in the bliss of warmth. God, it’s been a cold winter. Piper would stay in this shower for the rest of the week if she could.

The residents of the Slog have taken to making wild tarberry soaps and shampoos, and it’s surprisingly nice smelling. It probably helps that some of the Ghouls there remember recipes from before the war. The cleaner tarberries, the ones grown in the pool, are reserved for medicines and poultices, arguably a bigger source of income— the tarberries from nearby rivers and ponds are really only safe for mundane products like soaps and dyes. She appreciates not having to use centuries old soap to wash herself. It has a weird smell to it after so long.

The shower is small. Like, the size-of-a-coffin small.

It would be difficult for two people to take a shower in here, she imagines. Not that she’d be showering with anyone else, of course. The showers in Vault 111 are much bigger, and just as operational , but she doesn’t exactly want to be naked in the bunker where Nora’s husband was murdered. That’s just weird, right? That’s weird. Yeah. No. That’s weird. Even if it is practical, it’s still totally weird.

Great, now she’s thinking about dead frozen bodies. While she was supposed to be having a nice, relaxing shower. Piper shakes her head and finishes up her bathing, knowing that Cait will bitch if all the warm water has been stolen. It’s when she gets out of the shower, dries off, puts on her clothes, and looks in the mirror that she notices.

“Fuck!”

Her neck is covered in bite marks from last night’s little tryst with Cait. And she’d just been wearing a plain white t-shirt when Nora had visited. The Vault Dweller had _absolutely_ noticed— there’s no way she hadn’t— but clearly had been too polite to say anything. Piper was gonna kill Cait. Oh, they were never going to find her fucking body. In her haze, she remembered giving as good as she got, and noticed that Cait’s scarf was missing from the coat rack. Well… at least it wasn’t one-sided.

Ugh. What the fuck is she going to do about that? What the fuck even happened? Are they a thing now?

_Ew, no!_

Well… “ _ew_ ” is a little mean. It’s just that she wouldn’t have pictured that happening in a million years. Cait is a massive flirt to any person in the Commonwealth who crosses her path, but she never presses more than a casual comment. And hell, Piper never dates anyone! She doesn’t know how this shit is supposed to work! What is she supposed to do?!?

She takes the towel off of the rack, presses her face into it, and lets out a long, muffled scream.


	2. Team Wastelander

“Where’s Cait? She’s been gone a few days, hasn’t she?”

MacCready tips his hat to Nora and scoots over so that she can sit up in the sniper’s nest with him. It’s a tall, thin tower made of concrete and wood— and built on the hill next to the entrance to Vault 111. From here you can see any spot in the northern section of the Commonwealth, and a decent chunk of the western section as well. She knows Mac loves it up here, and he’ll bring Duncan up since the railings can’t be climbed. Like an eagle and its hatchling in their nest. She’s happy that he’s settled in the Commonwealth for good, not just because of his hawk’s eyes, but because deep down he is a good man. It helps that he gets a stipend from the Minutemen for installing decent, professional defense systems in settlements.

“She took Strong and Dogmeat out for a hunting trip. They want to bring back a few Radstags so that we have food for our Spectacle Island op.”

“Gotcha. I’d hate to have to clean up all that blood they’re going to leave behind.”

MacCready laughs, “Yeah! I’ll bet they’re having an axe-throwing competition out there.”

“Have you seen Piper without her scarf on?”

“I’ve been up here with Duncan for a few days,” he says, pulling his toddler into his lap. “Just relaxing and taking in the scenery before we head South. What’s up with her?”

“Her neck was covered in hickeys. Seems like she hooked up with someone at the party.”

“No wonder Cait’s out on a hunting trip. I’d skedaddle if my roommate was bringing home dates in the dead of night. Or maybe Piper kicked her out; didn’t want the competition.”

Nora cackles and scans the horizon. There’s a faint green glow in the distant southwest, but otherwise it’s an absolutely beautiful sunny day. She glances down, near the entrance of the vault, where X6-88, now Xander, is helping a few settlers move crates of leftover supplies from the party into the Vault. It was a gamble, wiping his mind, but it didn’t feel right to let him die as they destroyed the Institute. He’d been conditioned for cruelty, designed for it, but that wasn’t the only option. And though he struggled and struggled, Dr. Amari was willing to perform the operation, given all that Nora had done for the Railroad. It helped that Nora had proof of Coursers abandoning their causes, asking Chase to come down from Acadia and give her own testimony. Many sedatives and one memory wipe later… and underneath all that Courser, X6-88 is just a normal man. A free man, who feels emotion and expresses genuine kindness.

Somehow that makes her hate the Institute even more. 

“How are you holding up, MacCready?” she asks, trying not to think of Shaun.

He helps Duncan crack open a can of purified water before answering, “Pretty well. I’ve been writing Daisy just to keep up with Goodneighboor. She’s been visiting the library now that we’ve cleared it.”

“That’s great!”

“Yeah, she’s going to send a box of extra copies of encyclopedias that were further down in the basement of the library. She’s paying a few members of the neighborhood watch to fortify the place a little so that folks can come and go as they please.”

“I mean, the building itself was in decent enough condition. A few floors need to be repaired but nothing too drastic. Maybe some new windows in places. I was surprised how many terminals are still up and running.”

“Well, I’ve been writing her and we both think it’d be a great idea to slowly clear out the city subway system so that caravans can safely make it from Diamond City to Goodneighbor. Maybe even make it so that caravans can go from Roxbury to Malden.”

“That’d be something. It’d take a lot of work to clear out all the subway cars.”

“Not to mention the hostiles.”

Nora gave MacCready a hopeful smile, “There’s a lot that’s possible now that the Minutemen are back, and the Institute is gone. Maybe we can make a world where being a merc is a reputable job.”

“Yeah, well… I get to keep anything shiny we find, right?”

“Hmm.”

MacCready narrows his eyes playfully and whispers “get her!” into Duncan’s ear. The toddler rushes forward and crawls into Nora’s lap, letting out a toddler sized roar and pretending to wrestle with her. Nora plays with Duncan for a bit while Mac does another survey of the area through his binoculars and relaxes.

“Nothing but a few mutts. Some bloatflies up in the northern hills.”

“That’s not anything the turrets can’t handle. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? I think the Overseer of 81 left a box of toys when she came up for the party. The two of you can have a relaxing day, okay?”

Mac smiles, leaning over and giving her a hug. Because he looks a little older, having been through so much harrowing trauma, it’s easy to forget how young he really is. Since he got Duncan back, he looks even younger, always happy and whistling as he works in Sanctuary. He reminds her so much of Nate. Well, the mercenary certainly is a bit more of a beanpole than her husband was, and the kind to avoid a fight if he could.

He leaves with Duncan, carrying him down the wooden spiral stairs that are built within the tower. Nora allows herself a moment of peace.

No settlements to help, no super mutants to kill. A sunny day, with no rad storms in sight.

There’s a flask somewhere in her backpack, and she thinks about drinking up here alone but decides not to. Even if no one needs her right now, being drunk in the Wasteland is only ever something you should do if you absolutely know you’re safe. Sometime last September, some of the folks making camp at Outpost Zimonja had a small gathering and quite a few people wandered off straight into a nest of stingwings. Needless to say, the remaining crew posted there were forced to integrate into Tenpines Bluff while Nora sent out recruitment broadcasts to refill their fallen settlers.

Footsteps. Someone’s climbing up the tower. Multiple footsteps.

Nora stands upright and rests her hand on her pistol at her hip. She doesn’t really want to deal with an emergency so close to their departure to Spectacle Island, but it’s her responsibility.

Thankfully, it’s not an emergency. It’s Dogmeat, wagging his tail and eagerly sniffing her hands, and her son, Shaun. Well, not her son. Well… yes… her son? It was so complicated, and she never knew quite how to feel about the boy. If anything, he was just a plaything of the real Shaun, or Father as she probably should call him, designed to trick her into killing Kellogg. It wasn’t even that he was a synth, (though that was a whole other conversation). It was that he was forced to have memories that didn’t belong to him; that he and Nora were family.

“Hey Mom,” the kid says. He plants himself on the floor of the tower next to her, with a hot plate and a screwdriver. “Sturges said I couldn’t mess around in the warehouse, so I figured if I was working on this up here with you, I wouldn’t get in trouble.”

Nora blinks, always taken off guard by the kid’s intelligence, “Oh. Yeah, there’s some stuff in there I don’t want you touching.”

“Like guns?”

“Like chemicals and sharp tools.”

“I’m safe.”

“Mmm,” Nora hums, not wanting to argue about it. She’s sure that Father, or one of the hundreds of scientists in the Institute, taught him basic tool safety and perhaps even engineering tutoring. She honestly doesn’t even know what “age” the boy is, considering synth bodies don’t really change.

The thought worries her a little. Is she going to grow older and older while this synth stays a boy forever?

“So, you’re going on a trip for a few weeks?”

“We’re clearing out a new settlement.”

“Oh.”

Nora chuckles, “That’s pretty much my career nowadays. But this will probably be super dangerous and chock full of monsters. Like mirelurks!”

Shaun’s face lights up a little, “The really big ones that shoot acid?”

“Maybe,” she says with a shudder. “I might take some plastic institute armor with me to protect myself. And you know the mirelurk kings can turn themselves invisible?”

“Like an organic stealth boy cloaking system?!”

“Yes? Yes! Just like an organic stealth boy cloaking system.”

Damn, this kid is smart. Nora wonders if Sh— Father was this smart when he was a boy. If this synth is an exact replica of her son, perhaps he is programed to behave as Father had. She hopes that this Shaun turns out to be a little more morally sound. Perhaps growing up in the wasteland, unsheltered by technical bias, will better solidify a sense of right and wrong.

Another parent and child, sitting atop the tower today. And this paring is quite different from the last. MacCready and Duncan are tightly bonded, and the toddler is all he has left to remind him of Lucy. Shaun doesn’t really remind Nora of Nate, but rather of the world before the bombs. Of what could have been. Both a good and bad thing.

There’s an awkward silence for at least twenty minutes, the sounds of metal scraping against metal, of birds cawing in the distance. Nora fishes out a book with a hardback cover that Jack Cabot has sent her, probably a first edition version.

The kid takes apart the hot plate faster than she could have done, she’ll give him that. And he’d swiped more than just the screwdriver, giving her a sheepish grin as he pulls out a small desk fan from his little child-size backpack. A peek inside confirms it is filled to the brim with random scrap and components. She’s going to have to have a chat with Sturges about locking up the warehouse at night with something a little stronger than a combination lock. Maybe they can pry a pre-War card reader out of an old Vaut.

“What are you making?”

Shaun looks up at her, “I dunno, maybe a little tripwire trap that sets off a stinkbomb? If you mix Saddle-Up Salisbury, Abraxo, and Irradiated Thistle, it makes a really bad smell. Technically not harmful to the skin or eyes, either, so, you know… I figured it’d be okay. I was gonna test it on Deacon.”

“Yeah, I don’t want to be around for that. I just cleaned this jacket. But I bet he’ll love that, though. Especially if you put it somewhere he doesn’t expect. I’ll let Sturges know you’re not in trouble.”

He gives her a grin, and it stops her in her tracks. It was… it was the same cheeky grin that Nate used to give. Nora swallows her hesitation and ruffles his hair before heading down the stairs. She tells a whimpering Dogmeat to stay with the kid, just so that she knows he’ll be safe. Nothing can kill that dog, she swears.

She just doesn’t know what to do about him. There’s a stutter in her heart, yearning to have a family again. Maybe not the perfect husband and wife and two-and-a-half children she planned to have before the Great War, but still something that can give her a reason to keep going. That’s what a family is, right? The reason humans keep surviving and improving?

So why is she so hesitant to have that? What’s missing?

_______________

“I’m in the mood for some Blamco Mac and Cheese. Or maybe Mirelurk steaks with salsa. Mmmmm,” Deacon says with a purr.

Cait closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose, a scowl beginning to form on her lips like an impending storm. Why Nora needed so many people to clear out this stupid location was beyond her, but this Railroad spy buddy of hers has been getting on her nerves all morning. It wasn’t even that he was useless in a fight, far from it. He just felt the need to interject every moment of peaceful silence with some cool, hip dialogue. 

Piper perks up, “Well, I have some fresh tatos in my bag. And, given where we’re going, we might actually end up fighting ‘lurks. That is, if we don’t all drown on this damn raft first.”

Deacon gives Piper a flashy smile and a thumbs up. 

She tunes out the two of them and focuses on the horizon. In one boat, Cait, Deacon, and Piper. In another Nora, MacCready, Preston and Curie. Shame they couldn’t have traded MacCready for Piper; at least all the do-gooders would be on one boat (and RJ was always fun to hang with). They were actually sturdy enough rigs, salvaged from Egret Tours Marina and taken up the Charles River. A day’s rest and restock at Bunker Hill, and then another at the Castle, and within a week they’d taken the pair of sailboats almost all the way down the coast. If they needed to use the makeshift engines on a windless day, they could, but for the most part the Commonwealth had a steady breeze along the coast that kept them moving at a decent pace. Just one more hour and she would never have to sit within six feet of Deacon and Piper again. 

Sure, her family had sailed to America a few decades back. Sure, she knew how to use a boat better than the others. Sure, Cait could jibe the boat and let the boom swing into Deacon’s smug face if she wanted to. Nora would kill her, but it would be worth it. 

(She doesn’t do it.)

Spectacle Island is impressive, and if Preston was to be believed… uninhabited. Many years ago the Minutemen had scouted it out from both Quincy and the Castle, believing it to be a good area for emergency shelter, but had never actually gotten around to securing it before their big bad downfall.

The distant shipping crates on the beach actually pique Cait’s interest first. No doubt holding a shit ton of loot. But, of course, Nora had warned her and McCready that they were securing the settlement first and ransacking later. Cait was always down for a fight, but places like these tended to hide mirelurk queens and kings, and the last thing she wanted to do was take a face full of acid. She hated tussling with regular ‘lurks, too. She preferred hand-to-hand combat and unless you could tip one of those things on their backs to stab at their stomachs, you’d be uselessly punching at a thick shell. So, to give her some aid in the fight _and_ to pay her for helping with the project, Nora had given Cait a rather interesting rifle. 

Cait knows guns like any wastelander knows guns. And she thinks this one has a story. One that Nora is hiding from her. The vault dweller seemed both hesitant and eager to give it up, if that were possible. Hesitant because it’s clear she has a history with it, and eager because she evidently wants to ditch that history. Cait knows when and where to pry, and she’ll find out the truth eventually. 

The rifle is a thing of beauty, but clearly made post-War. Sleek aluminum and healthy wood, with a medium sized drum and a suppressor. It feels heavy in her hands, but balanced, as though the weight matches the power. 

And today she’s going to break it in. 

They beach the boats silently next to the shipping crates, tying them to rusted metal and praying it will hold. Those who don’t have suppressors on their guns, like Preston and MacCready, are expected to lag behind the others and provide sniper support. Nora, Deacon, and Cait are the heavy hitters. Piper and Curie are on medical duty, making sure to pull anyone away from the fight and back to the boats. If Nora fires her flare gun, they would retreat back to the Castle. If she threw an artillery smoke grenade, they would want to run to shelter as fast as possible. But, typically, she saves those grenades for raiders and Gunners. A team of seven could take out an island of Mirelurks. Probably. 

It goes pear shaped almost immediately.

Mirelurk hunters spring up from the sandy beaches and nearly tear Preston in half. The guy is a hell of a shot from a distance, even Cait could admit it, but in close quarters his musket isn’t the best. Everyone has their gun trained on a different beast, while Nora pulls out a wicked looking dagger and tackles the monster that is pinning down the Minuteman. Trying to get better cover, and knowing the clunky crabs can’t climb, Cait grabs Curie by the scruff of her flannel before a claw can snap her in two and pulls her on top of a rusted blue container.

“Shite! I thought we were going in all covert-like!” she hisses. “Guns blazing and we were the ones that got ambushed!”

“Mon Dieu! Ce n'était jamais si dangereux sous terre!” 

“Yeah, yeah, just point that syringer and get to work, you bucket of bolts!”

Curie takes her advice, loading a custom-made dart that acts in the same way a stimpak would, and aims the mechanical blowpipe towards Nora. The Irishwoman has to admit, Curie’s aim has really improved in the last few months. The dart hits her in the thigh and she lets out a grunt. It always stings to get shot by the things, but it’s worth it to have one’s cuts close up within seconds like magic. The synth ducks again and loads a dart that can blind enemies and aims for a creepy-crawly facing off against Deacon. Cait takes a second to catch her bearings and scans the horizon.

It’s hard to notice it, among the gunfire and laser beams. But Cait sees him coming from halfway across the island. A mirelurk king. Two legged mutant fiends with the ability to invisibly cloak themselves. The thing runs far faster than any person, ready to tackle someone down in the fray.

Cait’s heart stops as she aims only a few feet away from Piper. Sure, she had an infamous reputation for arguing with the nosy reporter, but one of the worst fates that can befall someone in the Commonwealth was being torn apart by a savage mirelurk king. 

The beast stumbles as it begins taking hits, and Piper lets out a shaky yell but raises her .44 and loads shot after shot into its face. With the other ‘lurks facedown in the sand, everyone begins firing at it and after thirty seconds and another close call with one of its claws and the reporter, the king finally lets out a howl and falls to the ground.

“Jesus! The island is swarming with them!” Piper hisses. 

“Okay! Everyone spread out and take a buddy!” Nora calls out. “If we do have a queen, she’s going to spit acid and we don’t want to be bunched up if that happens.”

Over fallen logs and between dead brambles, the wastelanders weave towards the center of the island, where a single lit lightbulb shines under a metal structure. Pointing out of the roof is some sort of broadcasting system, clearly post-War in make. Deacon and MacCready stand guard on either side while Piper, Nora, and Preston try to make sense of the structure. 

“There’s a note here, addressed from one Randy. I’m guessing he’s not around anymore,” the intrepid reporter sighs. “Seems like this generator is connected to a power source?”

Preston aims his laser musket and peers through the scope, “I’m guessing it’s that fishing boat down at the southern end of the island. The pre-War models had enough power for trans-Atlantic and Arctic fishing expeditions. Easily as much juice output as an FC powered generator.” 

“Yeah, it seems like the speakers above us are supposed to emit some sort of frequency that only Mirelurks can hear? I don’t know what the noise does, the note’s pretty old. Your thoughts, Nora?”

The Vault Dweller picks up her rifle and makes sure her knife is strapped correctly in place before leading the group down the hill. There is a determination in her steps that keeps them all from developing too much anxiety, as they follow the ragtag wiring strung from tree to connector to tree. 

“We’ll have to rewire all of this, and put a proper generator by that frequency emitter, if it does what I believe it does, and keeps the mirelurks away. Something tells me the previous inhabitants were unable to sustain the power supply and met their demise. If we were to establish a settlement here, we’d want twenty-four hour sustained power.”

Everyone spreads out, and Cait watches MacCready practically disappear into thin air as he kneels into the shrubbery, sniper at the ready. As stupid as his duster looks, it’s perfect camouflage. Preston climbs to the top of the boat to keep an eye on the water, one hand on his musket and one hand on the mast. To her left, she hears Deacon let out a chuckle.

“Ah, I’m fine, mad-mo-zell! Save you stimpaks for those who need it!”

“Monsieur Deacon, I must insist you take this radaway for your burn! You do incredibly important work and I refuse to allow you to die of stubbornness!” 

“Well… alright. It can come out of the company expense account. Do you accept charge cards?”

To her right, Piper is capturing a shot of the Glowing Sea and the mountains with her mint condition ProSnap camera, given to her by the grateful residents of Vault 81. Little clicks mix with the lapping of waves. It’s a strange song she has never heard. Maybe no one has heard it in over two hundred years; and Cait allows herself a moment of distraction as Nora takes some time to tinker with the engine and grumble to herself. She watches the reporter walk along the beach, a red leather coat swaying in the wind, black hair whipping back and forth―

Dammit, why the hell is she staring at goody two shoes? She has a fucking job to do.

Cait glances down and kicks at a piece of driftwood with the toe of her boot before taking the time to make sure her rifle is reloaded and clean. Damn mirelurk gunk can get in anywhere, in any crack. She has to be on her guard and she can’t do that with a dirty gun. Fortunately, other than a few grains of sand, everything looks fine.

Skeeter Davis playing from Nora’s Pipboy.

The gentle hum of Preston’s laser musket.

A synth and a synth freedom fighter, arguing over the ethics of the Hippocratic oath. 

The glint of the sun on a sunken, rusted car frame.

Bones mixed among the driftwood. 

The trees on this island are not dead husks like their mainland counterparts, but sprouting leaves and clinging to life, varying shades of dark greens. The grass is vibrant. She hadn’t really noticed that at first. Daffodils and daisies and hubflowers. The radiation must not have killed as much as the rest of the Commonwealth… or perhaps life was beginning to fight back. 

The sounds of Brotherhood vertibirds, many many miles away. The remnants of a destroyed army, attempting to scrounge themselves together for an eventual return to the Capitol.

Tools scratching against rusted metal as Nora tries to fix the engine.

A flock of mutated seagulls feeding out on the horizon.

A hint of a large round shell, hiding in the sand.

“Piper, don’t take another step,” Cait softly warns. “Stand as still as ya can and don’t panic.”

The reporter immediately halts, her foot softly resting on the large mound but not applying enough pressure to disturb the beast. For all the ladies’ disagreements, Piper is good at listening and taking orders when it came to danger and physical threats. Cait clears her throat and the conversation between Deacon and Curie silences.

“MacCready, ya get ready to take a shot if I miss. Piper, ya need to jump backwards when I say so, and get clear.”

She can hear a clicking from up the hill as the mercenary readies his rifle. Piper safely clips her camera where it won’t get smashed and pulls out her revolver, clearly determined to show Cait that she’s tougher than she looks.

The Irishwoman picks up a rock and lobs it at the submerged shell, a satisfying _crack_ piercing the air. 

“Come on, baby! Show me what ya got!”

The intent is to draw attention towards the brawler, the larger target. It certainly works, as a huge Razorclaw bursts from the sand and scuttles away from the reporter... and towards Cait. It swipes and swipes but Cait knows how to survive close combat. She knows it more than anything. She kicks the Razorclaw in it’s stupid black beady eyes, passing under a claw and stepping on the crab’s smaller, weaker back legs. Pinned in place, it struggles to turn as she pulls the pin on one of her grenades and pushes it underneath and up into the misshapen shell of the beast.

She then sprints. Hard. 

If she had tripped, she’d be in a dozen pieces. If the mirelurk had managed to grab her with its pincers, she’d be in a dozen pieces. Hell, there was a change the grenade wouldn’t go off in time and the monster would―

_Boom!_

Cait stumbles into the sand with a laugh as bits of meat and shell splashed into the water. She can hear MacCready chuckling from the bushes;

“That’s a new one! Shame though, we won’t want to cook it up. Unless you consider shrapnel to be good seasoning!”

She’s still a little dazed from the explosion, so it takes her a few seconds to realize that someone is pulling her to her feet. Cait’s disoriented eyes focus on wavy black hair and piercing green eyes. Judgmental, then ashamed. 

“Uh… thanks, pit fighter. You saved me a whole lotta ammunition.”

“I didn’t really want to have to mail a body back to Diamond City.”

Piper scoffs and brushes past a smirking Irishwoman, gently bumping Cait’s shoulder against her own and kicking a severed Razorclaw pincer. Maybe Cait should have said something nicer, like “You’re welcome.” Or maybe she should have been meaner. Truer to herself. Cait turns to throw another insult at the reporter but Piper is long gone, climbing over the railing of the ship to help Nora. 

She rolls her eyes and makes her way to sit with MacCready, ready for all this to be over with.

A few hours later, Preston had nearly lost his leg in the fight, but the island is secure. Everyone’s suspicions were correct, that a Mirelurk Queen was holed up and ready to defend the island, though Deacon claimed she could be calmed with the sweet lull of music, bellowing Bob Crosby while gunning the gargantuan terror down. It didn’t work, and it was clear everyone wanted to lob driftwood at the jokester’s head, even as acid spat in every direction.

In fact, the only reason Garvey got hurt was because the fishing boat rusted through where he was perched, and he took a nasty cut on the tumble into the water. He would have drowned if Nora hadn’t dove in after him and pulled him out one handed. For a Vault Dweller, she’s tough as nails. 

“I’ll be alright, General. Nothing a few stitches can’t take care o―”

“There is a possibility of tetanus infection!” Curie interrupts. “We simply must travel back to the Castle where I can properly clean the wound and treat you with antibodies. Do not argue with me! I am smart enough to know that the people of the Commonwealth do not regularly vaccinate!”

It’s actually kind of cute to see the synth woman get mad. Her brow furrows and she has this tendency to plant her hands on her hips and stand her ground. 

Preston’s always quick to relent, a sucker with a soft heart. 

“It’s a serious illness,” Nora chimes in, patting her fellow soldier on the back. “You won’t be able to run if there’s danger, I’d prefer you recuperate. Better safe than sorry, and you can go ahead and help get a supply line set up while you’re there, okay?”

“Alright, General. I will come back once I get _‘ze all clear’_ from Miss Curie, though.”

“Deal.”

Cait has brought the boats around to the closest thing Spectacle Island had to docks and tied everything off. One boat will go, taking Preston and Curie to the Castle and allowing Deacon to return back to his secret organization, and one boat will stay with MacCready, Piper, Cait, and Nora as they begin to clear the island out for building a new settlement. The gray manor is ruined beyond belief, but the little greenhouse and shed next to it will be good enough for a few nights of sleep while they begin to work. Broken tables are pulled out and lanterns lit. Sleeping bags unpack from the boats and roll out onto hard stone flooring. She sets her sleeping spot up as far away from the others as she can. Old habit from the Combat Zone. 

As she nurses some of Mac’s roasted mirelurk, she observes and eavesdrops. Another old habit.

“I appreciate the help, Deacon,” Nora says, grinning and shaking the agent’s hand.

“No sweat. Team Wastelander strikes again!”

“You are not giving us a name,” Piper grumbles from the greenhouse.

“Too late, doll! We have a name, we’re buds now! Anyways, Whisper, I’m thinking we’ll take a small slice and build a safehouse on the Eastern side, maybe one or two synths passing through a month. Nice and low profile. This is really, really out of reach and that’s desirable.”

“That seems fair, as long as you can play nice with the Minutemen.”

Deacon doesn’t answer, only flashing a smirk towards the injured Garvey and following the limping soldier (supported by a fussing Curie) towards the boat. Nora sighs and makes her way into the shed, stepping over a passed out MacCready and tiptoeing around Piper so that she won’t disturb her reading light. She settles herself by Cait and opens a can of purified water.

“Want some?” 

“Yeah. That was some fun we had today,” Cait says, between sips. “What’s our next plan?”

Nora balls up her winter jacket with which to sit on the stone floor without hurting her butt. She takes the can of water back from Cait and nurses it for a moment before thoughtfully glancing out the rickety wooden door. In the distance, waves lap up against the colorful shipping containers, and Cait notes a not-so-inconspicuous Vault Tec logo branded on the side of the barge supporting them.

“We might want to crack some of those open and see if there are any supplies. I don’t expect everything to be airtight, but if we’re lucky they were headed for the local Vaults. Maybe pre-War furniture, maybe mannequins for Fallon’s Basements. Maybe outdated food and expired medicine. But it will be a good place to start. And of course, we’ll want to weed out the unhealthy trees and use them as wood, and keep the older, hardier trees for seeding. The flora here is really healthy. I can’t help but wonder if we can use that to our advantage. There… there must be something going on that’s sustaining the wildlife. I can’t imagine how great crops are going to grow here. Maybe I’ll ask Blake Abernathy to make the trip down here and give us some advice.”

Nora’s face is all lit up like one of Sturges’ homemade firecrackers. She’s such a soft soul, with an open heart that just gave and gave, and sometimes it makes Cait squeamish, with this weird feeling in the bottom of her stomach. Right now, she’s able to squander that feeling, and just gave Nora a big smile.

“We’re here for you, whatever you need, Blue,” Piper says, glancing up from her book.

She glances at Cait and the brawler realizes after a second that she’s being prompted to speak.

“Uh, aye! Whatever ya want, darlin’. Though I can’t speak for Mac.”

“We could always keep him drunk enough that he’ll do anything,” Nora says matter-of-factly, reaching up to the lantern and turning it down, as Piper closes the warehouse door and binds the handles together with some rope. “But there’s always caps if nothing else. Good night, ladies. See you in the morning.” 

  
  
_______________  
  
  
  


Piper is quiet when she’s not in a group. She’s actually a rather sneaky devil when she needs to be; call it Reporter’s intuition. So the walk back through downtown Boston towards Diamond City is a moment of attentiveness yet peace. Things like bloatflies and ghouls need sound to become agitated, and Super Mutants are hard to miss. Gunner and Raider activity has gone down since the rise of the Minutemen, so if they are in the city proper, they’re usually along the interstates or skyscrapers above. In fact, she’s spotted two separate Minutemen patrols today. 

So, while cautious, she expects to be home by dinner.

The film for her camera is precious but Nora is working on finding a way to make it rather than just salvage (as she does), so it doesn’t bother Piper too much to take a few scenery shots here and there. Eventually she’ll figure out how to mass print newspapers with photos in them. There’s a sorrowful shot of a bus dangling over the side of the interstate up above, a lonely mongrel dog making its way to the grassy outskirts of the city, and a handful of drifters having a smoke outside some apartments. 

So, unfortunately, she doesn’t realize as she’s taking photos that she’s about to bump into someone.

“Woah there!” a startled voice gasps, “You could have tripped and fallen. You should really watch where you’re walking out here!”

Piper turns red from embarrassment and profusely apologizes, clipping her camera to its little strap. She turns to face the source of the voice and finds herself staring at… a mercenary? A caravan guard? A scavver? Likely, you can’t be sporting so many weapons without having that sort of job. 

The woman she’s found herself face to face with has a black neck gaiter on, covering her mouth and nose. That’s not surprising, a lot of these crumbling buildings are full of horribly fine dust from age and decay. She’s also sporting some rather shiny aviator glasses that reflect the sunlight filtering through the buildings. Her dirty blonde hair is closely shaven on the sides, with some stripes shaved in, and lengthy on the top. A small scar nicked above her eyebrow, a trademark of living a wasteland life. 

“Hi, sorry about that,” Piper nervously chuckles. “I just wanted to capture some nice shots while I was out here. I’m about to head back to work and I need some good material.”

The woman’s head cocks to the side in curiosity, “You’re that reporter from Diamond City, aren’t you?”

“Yep! That’s me! The Publick is my baby. S-sort of.”

Geez. Is she really this awful at talking? Or is it the shock of bumping into a person in what she thought was an abandoned section of the city?

“Interesting articles you publish. I like the one about the… what was it… that person who was asleep for two-hundred years?”

“Oh! You mean N― the Vault Dweller. Yeah, up in one-eleven there was some crazy cryo experiment, but the whole thing is repurposed now. And well defended,” she adds, with an afterthought. She doesn’t know who this person is.

The mercenary slowly nods. Piper catches a quick glance at her weapons; nothing too unusual. A 10mm is strapped to her thigh, a laser rifle in her steady hands, a backpack full of supplies, and what looks like a small bandolier of bullets safely tucked inside her leather jacket. Nothing too fancy, nothing too shabby either.

A drop of rain hits Piper square on the nose, then one right in the back of the neck (the worst place to hit). A storm is coming.

“I think I might head back to Diamond City. I had a job lined up for today but I really don’t want to soak myself for a measly fifty caps,” the mercenary says.

“Oh. Well… I suppose I’m headed up to Goodneighbor for the night.”

She doesn’t know who this is, she doesn’t know who this is, please don’t say―

“That’s half a day’s walk in the other direction. Diamond City is only a few blocks away. Why put yourself through the extra danger?”

“I um… I don’t usually walk home with strangers.”

Beneath the neck gaiter covering half her face, the mercenary appears to smile. 

“My name’s Agatha. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“P-Piper. Piper Wright.”

“Well, Miss Wright, if I was going to rob you, I probably would have done it while you were busy with that camera. I promise I don’t bite, if you want some company on the way back to Diamond City. I’d love to hear the latest gossip from a primary source.”

Piper stammers, her face turning pink as Agatha the Mercenary turns and wanders down the debris coated road back towards the Great Green Jewel. The reporter gently pulls out her pistol, checks the safety and ammo, then keeps it loosely at her side as she accompanies this… well mannered stranger back home. 

Nothing ends up happening, to her surprise. Agatha is quiet and calm, as though she has a well reserved personality. A strange trait for a mercenary, but not unheard of. She would make a good Minuteman. And, of course, Piper’s nosiness gets the better of her; asking Agatha her opinion on the group.

“Hmm. Can’t say I haven’t heard of their success. Destroying the Institute, carving out new towns across the map. And that artillery can be heard from anywhere.”

“Sounds like you’re not a fan,” Piper carefully states, as they round the corner towards Boston Public Library. 

A Diamond City guard holds his hand up in friendly greeting in the distance. Piper waves back. 

“I have my critiques. They’ve definitely changed a lot of people’s lives.”

“Oh. Would you say they’ve negatively impacted yours?” Piper asks. Her fingers twitch to pull out one of the many mechanical pencils lining her gloves. The notepad tucked in her bra practically begs to be whipped out.

“No comment. Being a mercenary is tough work now, if you’re not directly working for them.”

That’s true. Both Cait and MacCready had to change their lives to adapt to the huge influx of volunteer soldiers clearing out locations that they could normally charge caps for. But… surely safety meant prices would go down and there would be other good jobs, right?

“You could always see if they’re hiring for some of their new projects. Helping create new caravan routes and establish new sources of materials.”

Agatha noticeably glances down at her boots, and kicks a small rock into an alleyway, “Maybe. I suppose it’s less fanatical than going to the Brotherhood or the Gunners.”

“Yeah, and you’ll live much longer than working for a Raider gang.”

Her mercenary escort doesn’t have a response for that. Piper worries she touched a nerve. The gate to the entrance of Diamond City slowly begins to lift and she sees Danny Sulivan giving her a nod and a mock salute with his cup of coffee. She throws a wink his way. He’s a good kid.

“You know, I’m obviously supportive of the Minutemen, but I get that everyone’s opinion has the right to be voiced. Or… that’s how it was supposed to be in the old world. If you want to give a statement or an interview, I’ll consider publishing it in the Publick. It’s important that people are critical of governments, no matter who runs them,” Piper confidently states, her professionalism finally returning to her. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Agatha nods. 

Through the side of the aviators, Piper catches blue eyes giving the city in front of them a pensive look. The two of them part ways, the mercenary heading off to the Dugout as Piper finally, finally reaches home. Nat immediately collides into her, still in her school outfit.

“Hey kiddo,” she says with a sigh and a smile.

Nat’s hug is long and lingering, and expressing fondness that makes Piper regret missing out so much on her little sister’s life. She knows she needs to spend more time in Diamond City… but… but what?

“How’s everything going?”

“Good,” Nat says, pulling the Nuka Cola out of the little drink pocket of Piper’s backpack. “Pete Pembroke and I got one of the teenagers to retrieve a box of comic books for us from Hubris. He only charged fifty caps, too!”

Oh jeez. Fifty caps could buy a hot meal for a family or an hour of warm water in the locker rooms. Well… it was Nat’s allowance money. She could do what she wanted with it.

“Ok, but have you been doing your homework?”

Nat smiles and pulls a tattered three ring binder out of her bedroom. Inside is old graph paper with tons of scribbles and scratched out answers and a few correct ones too. 

“Yeah, I got stuck on order of operations but I think having that book from the library helped. And Miss Curie sometimes stops by to give me a few pointers!”

“That’s good. Remember, you can always ask Mr. Ziwicky for help. And if he tells you he’s not supposed to, tell him I told you so.”

“Yeah. I will! Everyone’s afraid of you, Piper!”

Oh, bother.

Piper pulls out a small pack of gumdrops for Nat and begins sifting through the old refrigerator Nora got working again. There are a few vegetables that are nearing the ends of their shelf life, and the tupperware of Takahashi’s noodles are probably bad. She’ll just ask him for a few days worth of sealed containers tonight anyways. Best food in the wasteland. But there’s a vacuum sealed bag of Radstag that she thinks would go good with what’s left of the corn and tatos and suddenly she feels as though she’s truly home. Piper sets them on the counter to prep for dinner tonight and wanders upstairs.

The thin layer of dust makes her feel guilty. She really isn’t home as often as she should be. Fortunately, her computer hasn’t been touched, and her project on the truth about Jamaica Plain is still up on the screen when she boots the ol’ girl up. 

She sheds the coat, and lets out a content sigh. There’s no place like home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Finally got this out! I had no idea what I was going to write for Piper's segment and then I had an epiphany to introduce Agatha, who I think you guys are going to enjoy! 
> 
> Bonus points if you can guess what gun Nora gave to Cait! No wait don't guess, it's a surprise tool that will help us later on.


	3. A Matter of Opinion

“I think we should start with our more basic barns, so that we can sleep with roofs over our heads until we can bring in some proper stone for house foundations. It would be smart to track the tides for a bit until we get a good idea of how water flows around here. I think keeping the main housing limited to the two hills we have will mean longevity for any architecture we place.”

“Yeah… okay,” Preston says, his eyes wide.

Nora smiles. He’s a good kid, but civil engineering might be out of his league. He seems to be more comfortable working with lasers and turrets. And laser turrets. 

MacCready and Cait are up on the hill itself, digging out large rectangular spaces that will serve as rudimentary holes to fill in concrete. The Minutemen have rented the services of the Nakano family and their boats to ferry as much concrete as they can from the Castle, among other supplies. Some other settlers, including Nora, have begun setting up a woodworking space in the old warehouse workshop, cutting down timber. Ada, with her modified arms for carrying gear, is on tow duty, and happy to do it. Gosh, Nora loves Ada; never complaining and always happy to salvage more materials for the team. She’d even given the robot a waterproof paint makeover to compensate.

“I’m thinking we set up a fishing dock on the ocean side, but we’ll want to put up automated defenses nearby. I wouldn’t want things to crawl out of the water when they see us cleaning fish.”

“Why not inland where the dock won’t receive as much wear and tear?”

Nora picks up her binoculars and surveys the ocean horizon. Perhaps someday there will be proper cargo ships and ferries, like there’d used to be. She never realized how much she missed seeing barges dot the water.

“I think the water on the inland side is more stagnant, and there’s a higher chance of radioactive spills inland. Plus Warwick is on that side.”

“Point taken,” Preston nods.

Blake Abernathy and Abraham Finch are having a pointed discussion in the distance, having both brought good seeds for sowing crops this spring. Without getting closer, Nora knows what the argument is about; Abernathy believes they should make a greenhouse to improve harvests, Finch thinks the construction will take too long and they’ll have wasted too much of the season without having planted crops. She’ll have to deal with that later. For now, she rolls her eyes and checks on the construction efforts. 

“The trees are really nice to work with. Nice living wood makes all the difference. We’ll need some chemicals to treat it so that it doesn’t absorb the rain, or worse radiation storms. Nothing we can’t mix up at the Castle. I’m also thinking we could try using clay to make some hearths and fireplaces, that would really keep the buildings warm in the winter.”

Nora shakes her head, “I wouldn’t go digging around here. This entire island is man-made. It was a civil-engineering project from before the war. I think we should leave the soil as is, and of course we’ll fertilize what we need to, but the more we mess around with the trees and soil, the worse chance we have of erosion. We’ll need to be smart about logging.”

“Bringing timber all the way down from Sanctuary isn’t effective.”

She adjusts her assault rifle so that she can sit down on a stump without it poking into her back. 

“We’ve done a fair number of sheet metal warehousing, using Saugus, especially in the southern settlements. Those wouldn’t be as warm and long term, though.”

“What about bricks that we import from the mainland?”

Nora slowly nods, “That could work. Bricks are the sort of thing that last for a long time. We could take a look at brick buildings around Boston’s suburbs, maybe Jamaica Plain and University Point, and slowly dismantle some buildings. That might work. Clay bricks are one of the oldest building materials in human history, I don’t see why we couldn’t try making our own as well.”

“There was that coastal cottage we’d never gotten around to settling,” Preston points out. “Possibly a good place to get clay.”

“We never settled it cause it’s a dump, Garvey.”

He sheepishly inspects his laser rifle.

“We could turn those cliffs into a clay pit, or excavation site. Or whatever you call it.”

“The only downside to brick is that a building would fall apart more easily from explosions, even if we seal the bricks together with cement and do some wooden supports. Metal panels can be replaced. Of course, timber would just burn wouldn’t it?”

Preston nodded, “I think we do a proper wall around this settlement. It’s desirable property for pretty much any enemy. Ronnie has been radioing Vault 88 and they think they can soak up the radiation around their quarry with a lot of specialized equipment if we clear out all local raiders. With your permission, of course, General. Then we can work on getting stone from out of there to get some proper defenses.”

“Yeah, you got permission. I’m nervous about the Gunners slipping back into Quincy, though.”

“We have artillery trained in that direction.”

Nora’s eyes gently drifted towards the Castle. Beautiful, cleaned up stone and rebuilt walls. It was a beautiful sight, even in the distance. And bustling with people, hell it was practically as busy as Diamond City nowadays. The insides of the walls were all defense, stockpiling whatever weaponry they could, and creating a training grounds for new recruits. The outsides, between the bastions, were lined with various buildings like shops, greenhouses, a few more buildings for sleeping quarters, and even a barn for caravan brahmin. The usual population was around fifty or so Minutemen, though they could sleep up to one-hundred with the bunkbeds Nora had them fit down in the catacombs (after creating a proper ventilation system and lining an actual wooden floor down there). 

Proper security cameras, radio, walkie talkies, wireless communications via terminal directly to Diamond City and Sanctuary, the finest automated turrets they could build, and even a space dedicated to repairing robots graced the heavily patrolled walls. Needless to say, the Castle would never fall out of Minutemen hands again.

“I’m gonna go take care of Abernathy and Finch, okay?” Preston offers, giving her a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

“You sure? Looks like a handful today.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Why don’t you take a walk around and give yourself a break? You’ve been up since five a.m.”

“Four,” Nora grumbles. 

But she doesn’t protest. Instead, she takes Preston’s advice and walks the beaches of Spectacle, noting the ruined tugboats that they will need to clear away, and old fishing line that people might accidentally get caught in. Christ, what a mess this wasteland was. She gets why Codsworth has gone a little crazy, as a cleaning robot, she really gets it. 

Instead of giving herself a break, she finds another thing to do. This… well… it really doesn’t have to be done in the manner she’s planning. Old bones and bodies are a commonplace now. You don’t call the police, you don’t gasp or faint, you just keep walking. But Nora grabs a shovel, and works down by the looser soil on the southern end of the island, where the tarberries are sprouting in little tidepools that shelter them from ocean storms.

Making multiple graves would take her a few days, and she has a lot of other work to do. So she just focuses on one big trench she can use, and really puts her muscles into it. Her fingerless gloves make it easier not to develop blisters, and her little water canteen balances on a nearby log. Honest work. She just has to remember she’s doing honest work.

A shadow overtakes her, blocking her light as she reaches up to wipe a sweaty brow.

“Now, I don’t mean to be a harsh critic, but what the fuck are ye doin?”

Cait’s standing over her with arms crossed, a shovel stuck in the ground next to her. The others are still digging foundations up on the hills, so it would seem she’d just wandered over here of her own curiosity. She’s sporting a raised eyebrow that appears awfully judgemental of Nora.

“Got a lot of bodies around here. I don’t want their smell luring any monsters this way,” she sighs, continuing to dig.

The shadow above her shifts, “Just take a boat and dump ‘em a few miles away. Tie weights to their ankles so they sink.”

“That’s disrespectful, Cait.”

“Is it? It’s practical, is what it is. Wrap em in cloth before ya dump ‘em if it’ll make ya feel better.”

Nora digs faster, harsher. Gets her frustration out on the dirt. This is the part where Cait gets on her nerves. If Piper were here, they’d be shouting already. She feels the sun beginning to leave a burn on the back of her neck, and wishes Curie had left some of her homemade sunscreen.

“Look, it won’t hurt anyone to bury them. Wouldn’t you want the same if you dropped here and now?”

She can hear a frustrated huff from the woman standing over her. 

“I get it. Ya want to hang onto whatever shred of decency ya thought ya had in the old world. But the way I see it, our lives are much shorter than yours were back then and I’d rather not waste precious energy giving a corpse a special tomb when I can get back to helpin’ the livin’.”

Nora finally pushes her shovel into the dirt and snaps her head up, pissed off and brow furrowing;

“I didn’t ask for you to help me with this. You wandered away from your job to interrupt mine, and if I’m going to get this done today, I either need another pair of hands, or I need you to stop distracting me!”

Cait briskly walks away. 

No protest, no words thrown back in her face. Nothing. She stomps through the thicket and the thick mutated trees, and suddenly Nora’s alone again. 

Nora doesn’t mean to be so short with her friend, but sometimes she has to be with the Irishwoman━ Cait enjoys picking fights when she’s bored, and Nora has picked up on it by now. She didn’t mean any harm, and Nora didn’t mean any harm in telling her off. She’s still frustrated, though, and she puts her energy into completing the grave so that she won’t have to think about how she’s just treated a friend.

Her muscles begin to ache, and her clothes are completely stained with dirt quickly turning to mud as she hits the layer that stays permanently soaked with the stink of ocean. She would build a coffin, but Cait is right; there’s only so much time she can spend on this when her people need her help. There were maybe less than a dozen skeletons and bodies in total around the island, and while piling them together in a mass grave wasn’t the most respectful, she will at least place a small plywood and dirt barrier between the older and newer corpses so that if remains needed to be dug up by relatives, they can be. But Nora knows that the folks of the Commonwealth aren’t the sort to fight tooth and nail to retrieve bodies. That sort of “patriotic” act will stay with the sunken remains of the old world.

She’s midway through a drink of her canteen when something smacks her in the stomach. 

Startled, Nora reaches for her knife and glances down to find a basic gas mask. With a raised eyebrow, she squats down to retrieve it and hears the creaky wheeling of a cart. Pulling it is a gas mask-clad individual with gloves, a tank top, and a ponytail made of bright red hair.

The cart itself has a few bodies of the former settlers on it, as many as Cait could haul. The Irishwoman gently takes them off one by one and turns the wheelbarrow around to retrieve more, without another word to Nora. Is she whistling a tune? She sounds like she’s whistling a tune. One of the Crosby songs that Travis Miles loves to play.

_ Huh _ , Nora thinks. 

She shakes her head, puts on the mask, and finishes up her digging. 

  
  
  


___________

  
  
  


“I swear, we chopped this tree down yesterday, and it’s already grown back!”

Cait rolls her eyes and checks her rifle one more time before brushing past an over-excited MacCready.

“Don’t be daft. We’ve been cutting ‘em down further inland.”

“No, Cait, I’m serious. Look, at the base of the tree, you can still see some spray paint from when we marked where to chop! And now there’s an entire fu━ freaking tree!”

She ignores him, and keeps going. Today’s her day to go to the Castle for a shower and a day off. Not that she enjoys hangin’ around the goody two shoes army, but she won’t turn down warm water and a hot meal. And that Shaw woman’s fun enough to do target practice. 

Someone’s making mirelurk for breakfast, surprise surprise, and the smell catches her off guard. Reminds her of her grandfather’s cooking. Butter made from brahmin milk, seasonings made from deathbell and bloodleaf, and salt. Makes her feel like a little kid again. Before it all went bad. 

Her fingers twitch to walk down to the beach and join in on the feast, but her stomach begins to feel all wiggly at the thought of eating. She’s not… she’s not that hungry. It’s too rich a meal. 

Besides, she doesn’t wanna hang out with these settlers. They just stare at her as though she’ll start snapping and barking and swinging her baseball bat. She checks the buckles of her backpack and keeps going, almost ignoring Nora mouthing “you okay?” at her from the temporary barn they’ve set up with cots. 

“I’ll be fine. Catch up with ya in a few days.”

“Be safe,” Nora says, and it’s so soft that she might have missed it over the chatter of the other settlers.

Cait gets on the boat headed for the Castle and tries to ignore the way her arm twitches. The marks on her skin from last night’s Psycho dose are still and angry red. That’s part of the reason she’s heading off Spectacle Island, she needs more chems, but she knows she won’t find anything good at the Castle. Maybe some Med-X or Buffout, but nothing that’ll give her a rush she needs. Fuckers. Fuckers and their anti-chem policies. 

She thinks about her grandfather to distract herself. He’d gone by Pa, but the only real information she had about him was that his name was Connor. That wasn’t much to go on.

While her parents had settled just outside of Boston, he made his caps ferrying people up and down the Atlantic coast in a beautiful old trawler boat that he’d poured every cap into restoring and fixing up. She never knew what happened to the poor boat, but she does know he went as far as Far Harbor, and even had a cabin up there. 

That’s a place to start.

They reach the Castle in almost no time, met with a small patrol that checks everyone and makes sure they are who they say they are. It’s not that there’s much synth paranoia these days, but Gunners and Raiders have been known to do sneaky things to hurt good folk. Nora’s been working on an “I.D.” system, whatever the fuck that means, and Cait has to hand over a little plastic card with her face on it to the Minutemen at the docks to get into the Castle.

He had a friend, didn’t he? Fellow named Liam he would travel with on occasion. Liam in Far Harbor.

That’s as much as Cait could remember. Her grandfather had died when she was five or six, and after that her parents grew cold. Dark. Cruel. Was it a breaking point for them, or had Pa been the only thing keeping them from hurting her?

Castle actually has a post office. It’s one of the buildings on the outside of the walls that gets the most traffic. Some kids from New Mexico or Utah or wherever have been helping create a good delivery express service for the Minutemen, since Radio Freedom (what a stupid name) is reserved for militia emergencies. Of course, other radio channels are free to use, but since the roads have really cleaned up from Minutemen patrol, there’s no harm in sending letters if you don’t want the whole world to know about your personal thoughts.

She finds some spare paper and begins working on… something. Just trying to figure out more, you know?

_ To: Mr. Liam _

Nope. No that doesn’t sound right.

_ To Liam of Far Harbor: _

What if there was more than one Liam on the Island? 

_ Wanted: Granddaughter of Connor _

Fuck… what was his last name? What is  _ her  _ last name? 

_ Wanted: Granddaughter of Connor Donnelly, Caitlín Donnelly, is searching for a man named Liam who may know more about Connor and can tell her more. Connor had business contacts up in Far Harbor as a ferryman to the Mainland. Please send replies addressed to Cait at the Minutemen Castle, in the Commonwealth. _

Her handwriting was rubbish, and if Piper were here she could probably word it better, but it would have to do. If nothing came out of it, at least she tried. The clerk in the post office places it in a pile of mail and supplies that are scheduled to head out for Far Harbor in a week.

Twenty caps is a rip off, but Cait doesn’t feel like picking a fight just yet. 

Maybe she’ll buy a typewriter next time she stopped by Daisy’s Discounts in Goodneighbor, the old ghoul was good for it. But only if she managed to get a reply from Mr. Liam. For all she knew, he was dead. It’d been at least twenty years since her grandfather had died. And he’d been old, fifty or sixty― old for a wastelander. Folks around these parts were lucky to make it to forty, you might grow old if you were in a secure settlement like Diamond City, but there’s always a chance a raider with a fat man manages to make it inside the walls. 

Someone offers her a cup of tea, and she declines. She told Nora she’d head to the Castle for the day, but Cait’s already feeling the itching urge to get away from these folk. Instead, she pays for a bottle of whiskey and a pack of cigarettes at the general store… and one can of potato crisps that she can attempt to stomach her way through. Maybe a chip at a time or somethin’. 

She climbs a few fire escapes until she has a decent enough view of the old town around her and lights a cigarette. 

What the fuck is she gonna do?

What is she doing?

She’s helping build settlements for people she doesn’t care for just cause Tommy told some bitch she could take over Cait’s contract. What the hell does that even mean? Tommy’s contract stated she’d fight for caps and a roof over her head. There weren’t no paperwork when Nora showed up in the Combat Zone, just a lot of bullets and blood. 

It’s not like she cares about Nora. Sure, the woman is attractive, and good in a fight, but she constantly makes choices that piss Cait off. Why’s she going around and helpin’ folks for free? 

If Cait had to suffer, everyone else should. 

Her legs dangle off the side of the two hundred year old roof, heels bouncing against the old brick walls. 

Cait should just leave.

She should just find a boat and make her way up north and hunt for a livin’. 

Another drag of her cigarette. 

The ocean is still a thing of beauty, despite the carnage all around her. Hell, with the exception of a few sunken boats dotting the shore, the horizon looks unmarred. She’s certain the radiation storms are hurricanes of mass destruction, and maybe there are sea monsters deep beneath the waves, but hell. It’s got to be better than here.

Maybe she’ll push the robots off that ship on that skyscraper downtown and get it to fly into the ocean herself. Become a pirate. She’d make a good pirate.

She takes out her pad of paper, and a pen that’s starting to run out of ink;

_ Liam, _

_ Dunno who you are. Dunno if I care. Thought I’d tell you about my Pa, Connor. Thought I’d tell you how angry I am that he abandoned me. Thought I’d _

_ He died, and you know that? I never got answers. Dunno why my parents took to hurting me after that. Was he a barrier? Were they afraid of him? Was he afraid of them? Did he take the blows for me? Fuckers.  _

_ Pa had a leather coat. I think it was a welder’s jacket that he used for general wear. Salt and pepper beard. Black hair. Got the red from me mum’s side.  _

_ Did you know he died from a gunshot wound? I dunno if word ever got to you. Died defending the trailer park we grew up in with a few other families. Raiders looking to make some easy slaves. Ain’t that some fucking iorne━ ironey━  _

How the fuck do you spell irony?

She grows angry, thinking about the pieces of shite that raised her, and quickly crumples the letter. Liam’s probably dead, she won’t waste her fucking time. 

Cait pulls the yellow chem box out from her backpack and sees that she has half a dose left. Well… it’s five o’ clock somewhere. Usually when she presses the needle in, she feels a rush of energy, but all she feels this time is a sharp pain in her mind as her fists tighten and shake. She brushes it off, and hops down the fire escape, looking for something to kill. Someone to fuck. More chems to use. Windows to smash. Anything to take her mind off of it. Anything.

  
  


___________

  
  
  


It’s weird to be back. It really is. Piper catches people staring at her, then their eyes slip away, back to the mundane of the City. She was right. She knows it. They know it. 

Doesn’t matter. Publick still sells copies, even when people gossip behind her back. At least less folks reject interviews now. The one she did with Sullivan about McDonough kept their pantry full for almost two weeks. She even paid Becky Fallon to fix up the tattered holes at the bottom of her beloved coat. 

Mayor Sam White is an older woman, in her early fifties or so, who lived in 81 for most her life before settling down in Diamond City a decade back. She’s a no nonsense sort, with a nice pair of glasses that illuminate steel gray eyes like polished coins from the old world. She files paperwork like no man’s business and keeps everyone in the city on their best behavior. It’s actually a nice change, hell, it wouldn’t surprise Piper if Mayor Sam had been a candidate for Overseer in 81 at one point. That place has its leadership locked down tight. 

She’s asked Piper to keep a good relationship between Diamond City and the Minutemen, especially after Mayor McDonough’s flippant disregard for the volunteer militia. It’s not that Mayor White has no interest in building a friendship with Nora as Hancock has, but rather that Diamond City desperately needs its mayor actively present to rebuild and repair both social dynamics and systems. As part of making amends with Goodneighbor, ghouls are allowed to visit again. It will take some time to mend the rift between the two different populations, but Piper is approving of this choice. 

And, as it turns out, Mayor McDonough was living rather large in his own quarters, with enough food, water, and weapons stockpiled to attempt a coup. White’s already distributed most of it to the people, some of it in an emergency storage room guarded by security officers, and some to the folks living in the lower stands. Higher caps taxes have been imposed on the upper stands residents, and while most of them are outspoken about such “mistreatment”, it means the city can afford to help shelter refugees from accidents and make sure everyone has warm clothing for winter. 

Piper thinks that, after realizing all of McDonough’s promises were empty and futile, most folks are willing to accept that working in cooperation is more important than forcing every man, woman, and child to fend for themselves. 

It’s a nice day. 

Time to get to work.

Piper weaves through the various citizens, guards, and traders, though the dark alleyways and towards a pink neon sign. 

“Well, I’ll consider your offer. I’d want to take you out for a test run or two, perhaps. But I’m not saying ‘no’ just yet━ oh, hello Piper.”

At first, it would appear that she’s barged in on a client. Ellie is taking notes in the corner, and Nick Valentine’s quietly lighting a cigarette behind his desk (she doesn’t know why he smokes considering it just flows out the torn plastic of his throat, but she won’t begrudge him old habits from 200 years ago). The client turns and gives her a smile, a woman with aviators perched on her forehead and a beaten old leather jacket. Her hair is cleaner than it was last time Piper had seen her, and her gaiter was now around her neck rather than covering her face. 

Piper has, of course, wondered why Agatha chooses to cover her face, for it was rather burned along the bottom, and up near one of her eyes. Fires and explosions are so frequent in the Commonwealth, it wasn’t a big shock. But she can’t judge if someone wishes to cover their scars. 

“Hey there, good looking,” Agatha says with a coy smile. 

“I… um… sorry! Didn’t mean to interrupt. I can wait outside.”

“That’s alright,” Nick says in his drawl, “I was just finishing up with Ms. Agatha. If you have the caps to rent a room in town, I’ll be meeting with a client in a day or two and likely taking a job from there. We can test your skills out in the field.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t expect you to hire me without an interview, as it were,” the mercenary nods, smiling and gently tugging her gaiter up over her mouth and nose. Agatha gives a tip of her aviators towards Piper and slips out the door. 

“Speaking of interviews, what can I do for you, Pipes?”

“Just came to chat. Dig up a story. Say hello to your underpaid secretary.”

“The underpaid secretary says ‘hello’,” Ellie chuckles, not looking up from her files. 

Nick waves his hand, “I give her most of my caps and keep what I need for spare parts and rent.”

“So, you’re hiring mercenaries, Nicky?”

The old synth shakes his head, placing his cigarette in the ashtray and adjusting his ragged fedora so that Piper can better see his yellow eyes. In the light of a single, flickering bulb, it’s almost like a cover of the old pulp novels Piper loves reading; the ones missing pages with faded spines. She smiles and gently taps one of the pens holstered in her gloves while he contemplates an answer.

“Miss Perkins believes I put myself in too much danger and that I oughta take a bodyguard with me. I lost my last partner, Marty, to super mutants. I’d take Nora with me out on cases but it would seem everyone’s seeking to employ her.”

“You spent three weeks in a vault surrounded by two dozen mobsters eager to turn you into a box of sprockets,” Ellie pointedly sighed. “I think having someone skilled in combat looking after you while you investigate clues might be a strategic advantage.”

“Oh, those are big words. You’re in trouble, Nicky,” Piper says with a grin. 

He gives her a brilliant smile and a chuckle, “I am. Well, I’ll accept a test run of Ms. Agatha. She doesn’t have much of a resume, unfortunately. Says she comes from out West and is looking to make a whole mess of caps. There are less honest places to find work, I suppose, than working for an old processor like me.”

“I’m sure she’ll be a decent enough edition to the team. She’s the one who walked me back to Diamond City when I left the island.”

“That’s right. And how was Spectacle?”

“It’s really something. Covered in living trees, and infested up to your chin in Mirelurks. But the sunrises are something else.”

Ellie quietly puts a cup of coffee in front of Piper and gives her shoulder a warm squeeze. It’s clear Nick’s invested in her story, leaning back in his seat and crossing a leg over a knee.

“We were so foolish and clumsy… it was like we were kids playing instead of soldiers clearing a settlement, but no one got seriously hurt. Preston’s foot took a hit, but he’ll heal. He’s a strong kid.”

“He is. Living trees, you say?”

“And grass, ferns, and shrubs. Honestly, if it weren’t for a few ruined buildings and bodies, you wouldn’t know the war had hit. Well, the plants are a little mutated, but the island is coated in green. It’s almost peaceful.”

Nick looks thoughtful, pensive even. 

“Keep a secret, gab?”

She takes a sip of her coffee, “I have a time limit on secrets. What’s up, Nick?”

“I have a dead end on a mystery right now. I came across a body with a small sapling growing out it, while I was on another case. It was up near, uh, Cambridge, I think. Near the crater.”

“Did you recognize the body.”

“Not the face… but he had a lab coat on. With a very specific symbol on his chest.”

“An Institute scientist?”

“Mmm,” Nick nods, taking a drag from his cigarette. The smoke flows out the hole in his cheek and swirls up in the ceiling fan above them.

“It’s been a year. You’d think most Institute scientists would have ditched their clothes if they’d survived.”

“Unless they’d been hiding somewhere.”

“Tree’s a bit weird, I’ll give you that. There’s not a lot that can grow out in the wasteland aside from a few mutated flowers and crops.”

“I’ve heard of a Vault down in the south west that’s overrun with nightmare plants that kill, but I doubt that’s a real story. This seems like a strange little mutation. Might have come from your island.”

“When did you find the body?” Piper asks, itching to grab her notebook.

“A week before the party.”

“Ah, so unless someone else was on Spectacle Island, killed a lone Institute scientist out in the open, and planted a whole sapling in his stomach, you don’t have any clues?”

“Nope,” Nick shrugs. “Could have been a leftover experiment from the Institute. Could have been a weird virus. Could be the start to a bad science fiction play.”

“Oh come on, you liked the Čapek play I mailed you,” Piper says with a grin.

“It was... interesting. But I suppose plays are meant to be seen. And no one’s putting on plays any time soon.”

“Not with that attitude. Watch, you plant an idea like that in Nora’s head and before you know it, that Somerville settlement has an amphitheatre carved into the hill.”

“She works herself too hard,” Nick calmly states.

“I know.”

“You going to do anything about it?”

Piper’s head snaps up, nearly spilling her coffee in the process. The yellow of Nick’s eyes almost seem to have a mischievous twinkle to them. 

“I think you’re scheduled for an update, mister. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course not,” he says, pretending to stretch muscles that don’t exist. “Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t you come with Agatha and I when we get our next case? That way, you get to spend some time out in the field, and I have someone keeping an eye on that mercenary.”

Piper’s eyes trail to Ellie, sitting at her desk behind Nick and fervently nodding into her own cup of coffee. 

“I’ll consider it. I think you owe me an interview about that serial killer painter you off’d with Nora a month ago.”

“How about the scoop about my long lost brother?”

“You made that one up.”

“Did not,” Nick says, shaking his head.

“Did too.”

“Okay,” Ellie Perkins sighs, taking Piper’s coffee mug, “I’m closing the office for the day. Why don’t you two scuttle off and get into trouble somewhere? And stop getting ashes on the carpet, Nick!”

Piper quickly scampers off as Nick sheepishly helps his secretary tidy up. The sky outside is beginning to turn a wonderful orange color, the lights of the stadium illuminating the alleys she weaves through. She decides to head for Takahashi’s for dinner, slipping her new audio recorder back into her pocket with a cheeky grin. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was bribed to complete this chapter. Plot's thickening, by the way.


End file.
